clairemargit

I decided to write again, as one does during a global pandemic.

I decided that the weight could be shared instead of constantly tugging on my own insides.

I decided that we needed a place to put the Good and the Hard.

Here. 

This morning we slept it.  This morning we fought.

This morning we had to slice the PB&Js in half because there wasn’t enough bread defrosted. And we prayed for the families who have none thawing on the counter.

This morning we walked around the neighborhood, left messages of hope on that one garage with the magnetic alphabet, and followed the directions someone left for us in chalk on their sidewalk (“hop 5 times” “downward dog”). We picked small purple flowers to put in a vase near the large purple spray can of Lysol. Then we Lysoled, just a lil’.

I’m not going to edit these, because how can we edit our accounts of a new reality? To what could we compare this? Editing implies that there’s an exemplar rendition somewhere keeping watch. 

There is nothing here. Nothing but lost wages, and Europeans singing on balconies.

Nothing but an email invite from Atticus’s room mom inviting us all to a Zoom chat during lunch so the kids felt less alone, and exhausted health care workers. Exhausted grocery store clerks. Exhausted…everyone.

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Nothing but humanity, resting here in the blinding Rocky Mountain sun picking at our cuticles. While the dog chomps on a large branch. While the kids stagger down the stairs after naps. While we text our siblings and our soul mates and our bosses.